


Storm Brewing

by coplins



Series: Packrunners [49]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Family Issues, Fluff, Jealousy, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Pack Dynamics, Pack Family, Polyamorous Pack, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Relationship Problems, gross depiction of eating a rat, problem solving, shifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-03 08:20:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21176321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coplins/pseuds/coplins
Summary: Dean's not alright. His job as a Main is to make sure everyone in the pack is happy and he's failing miserably with one member - himself. Luckily he has someone pointing that out to him so he can do something about it.





	1. Pack Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: There are glimpses of behaviour that could turn Dean and Marlon's relationship toxic, and chances are, that if they had been a monogamous pair, it would. Now, though, they both have people around them that help ensure that doesn't happen no matter how many times they hover on that edge.

* * *

Bartholomew walks into the office Dean shares with three other people. Three other people lucky enough to be out doing something that doesn’t entail staring yourself cross-eyed at a computer monitor. Dean’s boss stops dead with a bemused expression. “Somebody’s in a mood today,” he remarks.

Dean looks up and blinks in confusion. “What?”

Bartholomew stares pointedly at Dean’s desk, or, rather, at the moss-covered human skull taking up residence there.

“Ooh. You mean old Johnny over here? Don’t worry, he won’t bite,” Dean jokes, giving the skull a friendly pat. He’s already polished the white fangs to a shine. Never let it be said that Dean doesn’t have his priorities sorted.

Bartholomew frowns, casting a wary eye over the younger man. “Have you slept? You look awful.”

“Wow. Aren’t you a charmer,” Dean mutters to himself before plastering on a smile, “No. But I figured, I’ve got a desk here at work and that’s what they’re for, right?” He has, in fact, slept. He spent a full 25 minutes drooling against the passenger window of Sasha’s car.

Bartholomew closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Forget I asked. I need that report before lunch. And _Johnny_ better be gone by tomorrow, or I’ll file a complaint with management. Got it?”

“Got it, boss,” Dean smirks. “Johnny’s coming home with me tonight, so if anyone makes a complaint, it will be management themselves.” He finds it hilarious sometimes that the ‘management’ are his mates, but he is _their_ management at home. They’re all fairly professional about the weird power dynamics, and Batholomew doesn’t hesitate to file complaints if they’re founded. Dean will admit, a human skull on a desk in a shared office _is_ a valid complaint. ‘Johnny’ would spark controversy and discomfort if Dean kept him there, but he hasn’t been home since his and Sasha’s little adventure.

Bartholomew rolls his eyes and leaves the office. Dean sniggers smugly. The report Bartholomew wants is already done since he and Sasha came in early. There was no reason to go home to sleep when he needed to be back at work two hours later. So, not only had Dean finished the report, he’d already started on his next assignment. But he is really too tired to be reading through all these statistics. Instead, he mulls over what Sasha had said. Start some projects. Get new friends and take outpack lovers. He thinks of the Conservative Alpha who nearly snared him back in Kansas, the one he’d described to Marlon during their first time together. The man had prevented Dean from leaving, yes, but he'd also played on Dean's need to care for and please those around him. Plus, he'd given Dean attention. Lots of it. Something Dean’s current mates are failing to do no matter how much Dean waits at home hoping the situation will change. 

So, if Dean comes up with a project that will fill his free time, get him attention, _and_ force him to make new friends, then maybe returning home at the end of the day will be something to look forward to, something that relaxes him the way it does his mates. If Dean finds a way to keep himself busy, his mates can go on all the business trips they want, no sweat. 

He gets an idea and sends an email to Brad.

* * *

"Okay, everyone’s home. Time for a pack meeting. Get y'all's asses into the kitchen," Dean shouts over the chaos in the hallway. He hadn’t planned this. It's an impulse. A do-it-now-or-never decision that isn't exactly well-timed since Raff and Dick just stepped inside, Sam and Marlon are on their way out, Gabe is jetlagged and Mike and Luci just woke up.

Somehow, it surprises Dean that the first one to react is Marlon. Dean hasn’t even finished saying ‘pack meeting’ before Marlon removes the coat he just put on, puts it back on its hanger, then takes up his phone to cancel whatever he was about to do. It’s a small blessing. Sam isn’t nearly as cooperative. "Now? But, Dean! I'm on my way out to― " he complains.

"Don't care. This isn't optional,” Dean interrupts.

“Deee-ean!” Sam whines. Old habits die hard. Sam still falls into his twerp-Juvie behaviour anytime Dean rubs him the wrong way.

“I swear, Sammy, if you don’t get your ass to the kitchen _right now_, I’m changing the fucking locks and tell the guards not to let you back in.”

Sam starts toeing his shoes off with a grumpy expression and the reek of annoyance. It’s making Dean angry. To avoid picking a fight, he goes to the kitchen and sits down on Marlon’s chair at the head of the table to wait.

* * *

Dean waits until everyone's gathered. Mike, Luci and Gabe with coffee in front of them, Dick and Raff with notepads and pens and sparkling water, Sam with his arms crossed over his chest.

Dean stands up. "We're having problems, and I intend to solve as many as possible today." This announcement seems to come as a surprise to several of the Williams boys who share confused looks. Nevertheless, everyone remains quiet to let him speak. "We'll start with Dick. Tomorrow, you'll hand in a request for a six month leave of absence. Raff will grant it. Then, starting next week, you'll be Marlon’s protégé, learning his job and familiarizing yourself intimately with his political agenda to the degree you can take over for him if he, for some reason, gets taken out of play. You'll also learn to use your red eyes to your advantage, the way you used to use your scentlessness. If, in six months, you’re miserable with your new position, you’re welcome to go back to your old job. Otherwise, you hand in your resignation. Any objections? I know you're sensitive to others making decisions about your life."

Dick and Raff both jot everything down, but then Dick looks up. "Not as such," he says thoughtfully. "I'm more curious as to why?"

"Several reasons. Each of us has at least three or four other people at headquarters who are competent enough to take over our jobs, but Papa has no replacement. Next in line for his job is Luci because he rolled a 20 on charisma and genetics. But he ain't interested in politics, _and_ he’s the best in the position he holds. Besides, you're miserable in your job right now. You hate that people you've known for a decade treat you as if you’re a completely new person now that you have a scent, and, instead of getting over it, you’re bitter about it. Thus far, it’s been countered by sending you away to do _my_ job.” Dean might be a little bitter about that, but he’s not keen to admit that to himself. He’s quick to hold up his hands and add, “Which is fine, by the way. It’s good that you know how to do pack negotiations and so on. I ain’t saying nothing about that. You never know when I might be hit by a car, skewered by a stag, or fall to my death from the top of a building by slipping on a tiny patch of ice.” Marlon suddenly smells of acute distress and pales. It’s only for a brief moment, then he gets his shock under control. Everyone noticed, but no one but Dean knows the reason. Sasha had told Dean how Arvid died. No foul play, just bad luck and a tiny patch of ice on a rooftop. Dean goes right on speaking. “Bottom line, I might die or get hurt, and then you’re the Main. So it’s good that you know how to handle pack politics. But. I think you’ll be a kickass politician. Way better than I could ever dream of being. Plus, I think you’ll love it."

"I trust your judgement on this," Dick says with a little headbow of acceptance.

That went easier than Dean expected. Dick even smells a bit excited. "Great. Moving on. Next up, Dingus. Y'all bought a cat, so y'all get to take care of him."

"Dolus," Marlon corrects at the same time Mike says "Cartwright." The two of them still insist on the names they respectively gave the cat. Not that the cat responds consistently to either.

"I don't care what you call him. Y'all can't just leave for days expecting someone else to take care of him without checking in with them first. His job in this family isn't to keep the barn or pantry rodent-free. He's a companion. When I came home two days ago he came running to me, yowling at me like he was starving to death. He's a lying little bitch, because he still had lots of kibble and his water dispenser is automatic. So if you hadn't decided to hand-feed him chicken and whatever, food wouldn't be an issue. But it doesn't change the fact that he was alone for more than 30 hours."

Mike frowns. "Where were you?"

Wrong answer. Dean's temper flares. "_Out!_ Having a fucking life! You want to keep the cat, then you make sure to care for his needs, okay? He ain't a cuddly toy you can just stuff somewhere until the next time you want to play. I'm not above finding a new home for him if you can't accept your responsibility as a fucking pet owner."

"That won't be necessary. I'll take him with me when I travel," Marlon says.

Dean's anger is a bit unfair. He's never given them reason to think he minds caring for the cat. He actually likes the company. But the cat is a shackle if he's going to take Sasha's advice. "Good. Next up. Sam. I ain't gonna nag you to clean your room. You’re a fucking adult. If you wanna live in filth,_fine_. But, if you keep spreading your mess to the rest of the apartment, I’m gonna make you clean everything with a fucking toothbrush until you learn, okay? Every time you come home it looks like a fucking bomb went off.”

Sam sinks lower in his chair with his arms crossed, but makes a pouty ‘_mrrr_’ of acceptance. It’s an old argument, but back home, when Sam was still a Juvie, he had made Sam clean his room as well. Sam has a penchant for dropping dirty clothes where he stands, throwing trash _at_ the trashcan rather than in it and thinking ‘close enough’, or simply forgetting to clean up when he goes from one activity to another. Many times Dean had resolved not to pick up after Sam and wait until things became so messy Sam would do it himself. Unfortunately, Dean always broke first. Now there are seven adults who all pick up and clean the house if they find it messy, which has made Sam’s bad habits worse since all his messes magically disappear.

“Next up, cooking. From now on each of you pick a day of the week when you’re responsible for dinner for the whole pack. Sam’s excused since he lives on campus. There's a catch: You have to cook it yourself and can only use what we’ve already got at home.”

_That_ gets protests. Several of the boys start arguing at the same time. Marlon’s grinning like a madman, chirping, purring, tweeting delightedly as if this is the best idea ever. Dick purses his lips but doesn’t say anything. The rest of them talk over each other so Dean can barely make out who’s saying what. ‘Does cake count as dinner?’ is definitely Gabe, but for the rest? 

“There are fifteen good takeaways in the immediate area!” 

“What’s the point of being rich if we can’t buy food?” 

“I’m not eating anything Raff cooks!” 

Dean lets them get the initial protests out of their system then draws breath to speak, but Sam beats him to it.

“**SHUT UP!**” Sam yells, startling everyone into silence. “This isn’t about dinner! If you keep protesting Dean will change the rules to give you a 3 ingredient basket like in Chopped, and you’ll get like, rats, asparagus, and numbleaf.” Someone asks what numbleaf is, but Sam ignores them and goes on. “Or worse, he’ll drive you out in the woods and force you to hunt and gather for the task. Cooking is boring as hell as it is,” It isn’t. Sam’s just dumb. “You’re making it worse!”

The silence after Sam’s annoyed outburst is only broken by Marlon’s purr and happy trills.

“Sam’s right. This isn’t about getting dinner. As it stands, only three people do the cooking in this family: Marlon, Dick and I. If I tell anyone else to make dinner, I come home to takeaway. I know we can afford it. Money isn’t the issue. There are other issues. One, I’ve told you to fix dinner. We’re relying on you, but later that night you call to say something came up at work and you’re staying late. Or you don’t even bother calling at all. Which, fuck you. Hire someone. Delegate. I don’t care. If it’s your responsibility, and there’s no food on the table, then you failed to care for your pack. Like seriously. You could have ordered takeaway to be delivered like Gabe did when he had to hop on a plane to Asia. If I tell you to fix dinner, it’s because I’m busy. I may be home, but I may be up in the workshop, or down in the garage with my head buried under the hood of a car. Then I come up at 9 PM to find there’s no fucking food. You simply assumed the problem would solve itself, but it didn’t. Because I trusted _you_ with the task.” It’s not a constant problem but it’s happened often enough. Now the room smells of lowkey sorrow and acute distress - scents of shame and remorse.

Gabe raises his hand.

“Yes?”

“Could we do trades? As in, I cook for a whole week or so, but I won’t have to when I’m traveling? The flight time from Singapore or Australia is nearly a whole day. That means I’d lose 3 days coming home to cook. As much as I love to travel, I don’t want to prolong the time I have to be away from home too much just to make up for the time I lost by going back and forth just to cook dinner.”

Dean sinks down tiredly on his chair and sighs. “_Dude._ I’m not unreasonable. Nobody expects you to come home to cook when you’re on the other side of the world. You’d lose a fucking week, jetlag included, if you did that. Come on, man. Do you really think that’s what I’m after here?”

“You’re very angry,” Gabe says quietly and scrapes at something sticky and sweet-smelling on the table. 

Dean has to be angry or he’d be sad instead. They don’t get it, and it’s the very core of why he needed this meeting. “Yeah. I’m angry. But not irrational. Let’s say, if any of y’all are further away than a 5-hour trip, you won’t have to cook that day. Or week, if you’re gone that long.”

“So to get out of cooking, all we have to do is pick the right airport and stay away,” Mike jokes, getting a few smiles and sniggers.

That hurts. Dean simply stares at Mike blankly until his smile falters and he bends his head, licking his lips. 

“The second issue covers the gaps in your training,” Dean continues when his pack is silent again. “I know everyone in this room can cook passably well, yet when Raff cooks Luci refuses to eat. I presume that’s because of the heavy spices. On the other hand, Sam thinks Luci’s the best cook on earth while most of us find his food bland. When Marlon or I cook, everyone enjoys it because we both take the time to know who will be eating and we adapt our cooking accordingly. Y’all need to learn that. Y’all need to learn all the elements that go into feeding a pack. Figuring out how many are going to eat, if they’ll need leftovers for lunchboxes the next day, how much they’ll eat. You need to plan ahead. You might have to take the meat from the freezer in the morning or the day before, stuff like that. This challenge will grow increasingly more difficult as we run out of stuff and don’t replenish. And y’all are not allowed to buy a single ingredient. If you want to use something we ain’t got at home, then you hunt or harvest. If you don’t know how to get it, then you can ask me, Sam, or anyone else in the pack who knows and we’ll come with you to teach you, but we won’t get it for you.”

“That’s going to take a lot of time,” Raff states the obvious.

“Bingo. Which is why you’ll have to learn how to prioritize and plan ahead. We’re starting from the easy point. Next year I’ll have you hunt and scavenge to feed us all.”

“Dean. We’re rich,” Mike says with an indulgent little smile, as if Dean somehow might have missed that. Dean wants to punch him. They’re too fucking spoiled.

“No,” Dean says patiently. “We’re a pack of warriors who use business as a way to keep the peace, protect ourselves and prepare for war. I know y’all can fight, and I know you have training in tracking and stealth. I want to test you on pure survival and pack care. My kit will grow up to be both a hunter and a warrior.” He’s already planning for the day he’ll have a new life growing inside of him. It might not be that far in the future. “I need everyone in my pack prepared to teach our kit that. Ideally, I should be able to drop each one of you, alone and penniless, in any kind of environment, and you’ll thrive. No matter if it’s the slums of a strange city or in the middle of a forest. However, for the whole dinner thing. You can solve that problem however you want as long as you stick to the rules. You want to make cake for dinner, go ahead. But if you’re three hours away for business meetings on your day, and there’s no dinner on the table in the evening, then your kit goes hungry and you’ve failed. If you keep taking advantage of that 5 hour loophole, you’ve failed. You shirk your task too often without a reasonable excuse, you’ve failed.”

“And the punishment?” Luci asks.

Dean sighs again and runs a hand through his hair. “No punishment. You’re adults. The consequence will be bone-deep disappointment from my side and a lessening of trust. But I won’t punish you.”

“Any other issue?” Gabe asks.

“Priorities. I ain’t gonna explain that. I think you’ll notice once we get this going.” Dean shouldn’t have to explain the disappointment he feels when people say they’ll be home for dinner, but then they don’t show up. Or they come home late having eaten takeaway at their desk. Maybe the issue will solve itself when they all have to cook. The Williams boys are good at bullying each other to fall in line.

“I can do lunch if I’m at home during a weekend,” Sam offers. “We often go out to― _oh_.” His mouth snaps shut as the penny drops for him, what Dean meant about priorities. Dean knows what he was about to say. Sam often goes out on a date with one or two of his mates in the evenings if he’s at home for a weekend and doesn’t have to work. Daytime may be spent lazing at home with the whole pack, but in the evenings he’s all lovey-dovey and datey, not eating at home. Not eating at home is the root of the problem, not the cooking or food. Like Mike pointed out, they’re rich.

“I for one support this 100%, no matter how much my palate will have to suffer,” Marlon purrs.

“Nobody could miss that, dear,” Dick says with a small smirk.

“Okay, next. Dick. You aren’t all that happy here at home. Why?” It’s a shot in the dark. Sasha had only mentioned how Dick felt about work and mostly Dick smelled happy. But he’d seemed a bit down lately. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just work.

Dick looks surprised. “I’m not sure I’m following, dearheart.”

“You’ve been melancholic. Maybe it ain’t nothing to do with us or your new pack life. What do I know, right? But it might. And we can’t help you if we don’t know what’s wrong.” 

Dick hesitates and leans forward, resting his hands on the table. “I am content with my living situation, dear. There are few things I’d wish to change. But…” He waves his hand as if whatever it is isn’t important.

“But? Come on, man, just talk to me.”

Dick smiles at the table. “It’s not a big thing, dear. I just miss having guests. I never realised how often I had my friends over until I was no longer allowed. But I know how sacred the home is for Packrunners, and how much I disliked it when Crowley invited strangers over. All choices come with consequences and I’ve accepted that this is one of them.”

Dean’s taken aback. “Wow. Yeah, okay, I dunno what I was expecting but that wasn’t it.”

Dick looks up through his lashes to give him a coy smile. “It’s fine, dear.”

“Yeah, no, it ain’t. You know packs _do_ bring home visitors sometimes, right? It’s not a ‘hard no’ kind of issue, depending on who we’re talking about.”

“Oh, but don’t you remember what Marlon told us? I wouldn’t want to bring him that level of discomfort,” Dick says.

Marlon draws breath to speak but Dean holds up a finger to silence him, ignoring the spike of annoyance from the Patriarch and the widened eyes and barely held back delighted sniggers from his sons. “There might be ways to work around it. What friends are we talking about? Crowley and Balt? Chad and Brad?”

“Amongst others.”

“Names, man. I need names. Cuz knowing you, I don’t believe you’re talking about strangers off the streets. Every friend you’ve introduced me to has been loyally supportive of you for more than a decade,” Dean prompts.

Dick lists a few more names and explains who they are if Dean hasn’t met them.

“Maybe we can prepare a floor specifically for guests?” Raff suggests.

Dean shakes his head. “I don’t think that takes care of the problem. I think it’s about wanting to show them where you live, and relaxing in an environment where you feel completely comfortable. If we just prepared an extra floor, Dick would still have to go home, if you get what I’m sayin’? Dick might be a Packrunner on an instinctual level but he’s also a convert used to other habits and traditions than us. We might get more converts in our pack in the future, so we need to come up with a compromise. One we can stick to and still have a happy pack. Technically, we could just say Dick’s floor is open to guests as he pleases. But you know that if Chad and Brad pop over me an’ Sammy will probably be up there right along with them. I’m completely comfortable having them in my home. I think we all have people we’d enjoy having over. For me, Charlie Bradbury is one. Since y’all promoted her and she moved to Silicon Valley, I never get to see her. I’d love to have her over for a weekend. Or your friend, whatsherface. The one who looks like she’s come to escort your soul to the afterlife.”

Raff snort-giggles. “I’ll tell her you said that. She’ll have a laugh about it. Billie. Her name is Billie Reaper. And you’re right. I wouldn’t mind her in our home.”

“Chadster and Brad are welcome here as far as I’m concerned,” Luci says. “I don’t get to see them half as often as I’d wish.” Mike nods along in approval.

“So we agree there are people we don’t mind in our home. I’m gonna go ahead and say that if there’s someone we can’t stand, any of us can veto a visit. Like, I’d like to have Sean Williams come over, but I’d tear his sniping mate’s fucking throat out if they set foot over the threshold.” Dean would really like to meet the uncle who meant so much to Marlon in his youth. It would be awesome to see if Marlon and Sean truly are identical when pelted, like Marlon said they were. And maybe, since he left the pack to mate into a trucker company, Dean and Sean would have their interest in cars in common?

“Sean, who?” Gabe asks, perking up with a puzzled expression.

“Your uncle,” Dean explains briefly, “someone will tell you more after the meeting.” He looks at Marlon, “We do know at least one of our members is sensitive to invaders.”

“I’ll fold to whatever decision is made on the issue,” the Patriarch concedes.

Dean is shaking his head. “Not good enough. Our private rooms and offices will be off limits unless the room’s owner invites a guest in. Are there other rooms you’d want to be off limits? How long in advance do you need to know we have an ‘invader’?” Dean does air quotes. “Is their sex or gender going to make a difference? Do you need to do background checks on them first? Do you want to meet them and get to know them before an invitation is extended. Seriously. This isn’t something I want you to simply fold on.”

With Marlon participating, it doesn’t take long to work out rules about inviting guests, and Dick smells a lot more content and happy afterwards. Hell, even Dean’s excited about the prospect of extending an invite to Charlie. He misses her.

“Next up, some of y’all have never been in a committed relationship and it shows.”

The Williams boys share a concerned look before turning their attention back to Dean. Sam and Dick are also looking at him with concern.

Dean takes a deep breath. “Luci and Marlon have both said they want to lock me in their rooms and never let me leave. I know it was meant as a joke, but, congratulations, you’ve succeeded, and it’s making me miserable.”

Marlon hadn’t been concerned but now he’s looking at Dean with razor focus and hints of distress in his scent.

“I ain’t a domestic O. I do all these tasks around the apartment as fast and as effectively as I can just to get them over with so I can do the stuff I like. But the more I do, the more y’all have stopped doing. Y ’all thought ‘Hey, that’s great, Dean will do it', and stopped pulling your weight.”

“Not true,” Marlon protests.

“Ain’t talking about you, Papa. You’re just like me when it comes to house chores. But this is more than that.” Dean addresses the whole table again. “Look. I don’t really know where to start, but it’s serious, okay? At work I get off a lot earlier than y’all. Bartholomew won’t let me work overtime unless I log those hours as an owner. Something about the union.” He wanted to call it bullshit but Bartholomew had been very good at explaining why he wasn’t allowed overtime even if he did it for free. It would fuck up statistics if things got done without logging hours. Higher ups wouldn’t know who did what or why when they looked at results and would expect the same performance of everyone. If he logged the overtime, he made it harder for his colleagues to refuse to do the same. More people would feel pressure to work, neglecting their families. Ultimately, someone could be laid off. And if he logged hours as an owner, he would automatically be Barry’s boss during those hours, and Dean wasn’t ready to accept that responsibility in a job he’s just starting to be able to do without training-wheels. “I can’t really stay behind just to hang out with people because I’d be holding up their work. Most of my friends either work for us or don’t get off as early as I do. So I come home, do all the chores, and I wait for you. Y’all travel. You work late and you come home tired. I get it. You’re doing the equivalent of patrolling the territory. _I get it._ But. I joined my pack to a pack that had a working system to see that chores were done and time was set aside for bonding as a pack. That system has fallen apart like a house of cards since Sam started college. You all collectively decided that I’m going to be the domestic pack member, so you don’t have to bother. But you also didn’t bother to ask me if I was okay with that. Now I’m stuck here alone and bored out of my mind, working too much at HQ to do something truly rewarding out there, but too little to fill my days when there’s nobody here at home to talk to. I’m stuck waiting for mates that may or may not bother to show up. And even when all of y’all are gone out of state I can’t leave the house cuz y’all decided you had a built in pet-sitter, and Dingus―”

“Dolus,” Marlon unhelpfully corrects on autopilot.

“―is as much part of the pack as the rest of y’all, so I can’t leave him. I did anyway, and he went all drama llama on me.” Dean turns his head to address the cat currently sleeping on top of the fridge. “Like, fuck sake, chill. We hardly see you anyway.” He looks back at his pack. “I can’t hunt, fish, or scavenge because we’re stocked to the fucking rafters. I’ve tuned every car in the garage, fixed the heating, built and repaired furniture. If I want more to do at home I’m gonna have to start breaking stuff. Sure, I could read, watch TV, play a video game or whatever. But to me, those are activities for when I’ve exhausted myself physically. I already sit still at work. And we have a nice gym but if I’d devote myself to it, I’d end up a bodybuilder and lose my agility and dexterity. So I’m stuck. And I’m bored. And I’m lonely. I’ve already been lonely for years Siderunning my old pack. I don’t like it, okay? At least then I could meet people, exert myself, discover new places, get my rocks off. Now? I’m gone for one fucking day, then Luci comes home a day early and puts me through the guilt-trip of the century because he expected me to be here.”

Dean pauses his rant to rub a hand over his face. He has to hand it to his pack but each and every one of them are listening. None of them have tried to interrupt or defend themselves. He takes a deep breath and goes on. “So I’m stuck here waiting for y’all because I want to spend time with you, but then you don’t show up. You might as well have locked the door and thrown away the key.” Another short pause then he frowns and goes on. “Worst part is? Your broken promises and the misplaced jealousy I feel because of that.”

Raff looks up from his notepad, pen flying over it even when he’s not looking. “What promises?”

“To take me places. Hell, I’m on the ownership papers of your Long Island estate, but I’ve never been there. Sam has. But not me. Every time you’ve promised to take me something’s come up that was more important to you. That’s more important than me.”

“Hey, now―”  
“That’s not true."  
"You know we love you, Dean."

"It doesn't have to be true," Dick interrupts. "Dean is telling us how he experiences it. The feelings are there regardless of whether he's important to you or not. And the waiting he describes isn't healthy." 

"Yeah. So I was told." By Sasha. He's not telling them that. "So I'm going to stop. From now on, I'm not coming directly home when I get off work. I’ll get myself something to do. A project of some sort. Then I’ll be out getting new friends and taking lovers. You said you were fine with that, but I’ve only slept with one outpack Alpha since the merger. And he was already my lover before I got mated to y’all."

“Chaadayev?” Marlon asks suspiciously.

Dean glares at him. “No. Not Sasha. Fucking hell, Marlon, we’ve had this argument how many times?”

Marlon bends his neck and holds up his hands in defeat, licking his lips. Four times they’ve fought about Sasha. Marlon will always double down and talk it out like an adult after the initial fight. They both know it’s because he’s feeling insecure about an Alpha of equal status prowling around his mate and territory. He feels threatened by Sasha in a way he isn’t by other Alphas. Until three days ago, Marlon’s jealousy and insecurity were unfounded. Technically, that’s still true. Technically. Dean tells himself, at least.

Luci raises his hand and Dean motions for him to speak. “Is there a chance you’d only take Omega lovers?” he says hopefully. That’s rich, coming from him.

“If they’ve got a nice knot, then yeah, sure,” Dean says sarcastically. Luci takes a swig of his now cold coffee then fiddles with the mug, a discontent sting to his scent. “Look, Lu. I can refrain from taking any outpack lovers. It ain’t that hard. But in that case, I expect the same from you.”

Luci looks up, now with anxiety in his scent. Luci does really badly at being separated from his pack. When he’s out of state he always ends up with one or more partners in his bed. Sam, Dean, Dick, they’re all okay with it. On multiple occasions, Sam and Luci have hooked up with Os together. (Dean’s pretty sure Sam’s the driving force behind that, but whatever.) Raff’s not interested in anyone beyond his three mates. Mike’s hooked up with Alphas a couple of times. Gabe is a shameless flirt who loves to go to strip clubs, but he doesn’t actually sleep around. The exception had been once when he called in the middle of the night, waking Dean, and in lieu of hello excitedly had gone ‘**DEAN, SHE LOVES MY TAIL!**’ Dean had told him to go for it and hung up, chuckling. Dick’s the type who will only bed steady lovers. He hasn’t stopped sleeping with the people he slept with before he joined the pack, and even Luci seems okay with it since it's a 'you get what you buy' kind of deal. Sam― Dean's not sure what the hell Sam's doing, to be honest. But Luci's jealousy seems to be centered around Dean specifically, just like Marlon's is targeted at Sasha.

"Look, Luci, I capital letter Hate being alone, same as you. I'm hedonistic and tactile. You know that. I've got five mates who are all too busy to spend time with me." He holds up his finger to forestall protests. "You are. And as a Main, I recognize the importance of what you do. But as a Main I've also realized that my job in this pack is way different than it used to be before. It's dragging me down, and I intend to nip it in the bud by finding out where I fit in and how I can make my days rewarding for me too. So I ask you, do you want me to refrain from taking outpack lovers? And if you do, are you ready to be as lonely as I am when you’re away? Cuz I'm fucking lonely. This question goes to all of y'all. If you have any doubts, I can tell you I'm not going to leave you. Meeting new people, even sleeping with new Alphas is not going to change how I feel about you. It won't diminish my love. Even if I fall in love, it won't mean I'll fall out of love with you."

"You know where I stand," Gabe says.

"Where do you stand?" Mike asks him.

Dean chuckles. "Livestream it to him. If I can't do that, he wants me to give him a graphic description. Even if I don't, whenever I or anyone else in the pack gets laid, he's as happy as if he got laid."

There are chuckles all around.

"As long as you don't stand me up to be with someone outpack I don't mind," Mike says. "I'd be more than happy to share the experience with you as well."

"I'd prefer not to know," Luci states. "I definitely don't want to smell a stranger on you." He heaves a big sigh. "But… I recognize that my wish for fidelity is born out of an unhealthy possessiveness, territorial thinking, and insecurities that have nothing to do with love, or care for your feelings. And…" he looks at Dean, "...if you feel even half as lonely as I do when we're all away, I'd be willing to personally make sure you have companionship even if it is with another Alpha."

"I appreciate that, but I prefer to make my own choices.” Dean offers him a small smile. He gets that Luci meant it as a token of goodwill, not a wish to dictate who Dean sleeps with. “How about you, Papa?"

"I should think you already know. But to repeat myself, I'll accept outpack romances since I recognize that you're like Aiden, not like me. Most likely I'll make a fuss about it now and then and we'll work through it like we always do. What I require is openness and honesty."

"About that. If any of you do anything to punish my lovers, I'll go feral on your asses. You have a problem with whoever I, or any other of your mates, sleep with, then you take it up with us. Anything else will be regarded as emotional blackmail. Understood?" Everybody nods. "Alright. Does anyone have anything else they want to say on the matter?"

Gabe raises his hand. "You mentioned jealousy. If you don't want us to sleep with―"

Dean interrupts him with a headshake. "Aruba, Jamaica, Florida Keys, our estate, Las Vegas. I'm jealous of my fucking little brother who I love more than the air I breathe, because you take him places. You promise to do the same with me, but you don't follow through. That's fucked up. I wanted to fucking deck him because he spent the whole Vegas weekend in the hotel room. That's his idea of a great weekend which is awesome and all. But I was mad because he couldn't tell me what Vegas was like, denying me the experience even by proxy. Sex has nothing to do with it." His mates look stricken. He looks at Sam. "I'm sorry, Sam. I try to hide it and just be happy for you, but it’s fucking eating at me." Sam gives him that stupid fucking kicked puppy look as if _he_ somehow did something wrong. It’s not his fault and they really should talk about it one-on-one so he doesn’t guilt-trip himself about it. Dean looks at his mates again. "So, yeah, I'm gonna be out doing stuff so I don't get bitter and jealous. To start with, tomorrow I'm off to visit the estate."

"Tomorrow isn't a good time, son."

The anger, already close to the surface, like gasoline floating on water, ignites. Dean roars in rage, flaring, dropping full fangs and getting out of his chair to loom menacingly. 

Luci sneezes.

Marlon growls, showing fangs with a muted flare.

"It is _for me_! The whole point of this fucking meeting is to get you to realize that! You've had a year to take me there if you wanted to be the one to show me. I'm done waiting for you. I'm on the fucking ownership papers, for fuck sake."

"It's dangerous to cross the bridge alone," Marlon says tightly. Dean is amazed at the gall of him, to still be arguing.

"Lucky I have a best friend with a security firm then, ain't it?" Dean answers sarcastically, aiming at his weak spot.

Marlon growls.

Dean’s not having it. "It's not negotiable. I leave tomorrow at eight. You're welcome to come with me, but if you don't have time that's _your_ problem. I’m going regardless." He suddenly narrows his eyes suspiciously and leans over the table closer to Marlon. “Are you hiding something at the estate? Is there something there that you don’t want me to know about and that’s why you’ve been keeping me away?”

Marlon scoffs with a deep frown but finally licks his lips in resentful submission. “Of course not.”

“Well then there shouldn’t be a problem. Anyone have anything else they want to bring up at this meeting? No? Then I declare this meeting over and you can go about your day as usual. I'll be in my room if you want me.”

Dean rounds the table, nose twitching with the sting of Marlon's anger when he passes behind him. He still lays a hand on Marlon's shoulder and lets the touch linger while he passes. Dick tears off a few pages from his notebook and hands them to Dean. It's the notes from the meeting with a line at the end saying Raff will have the protocol written out in an hour. Protocol. From a pack meeting. The idea wouldn’t even have occurred to Dean.

Dean leaves the kitchen and heads for his own room. He leaves the door open and sits by the computer. A minute later he hears the door slam so hard the paintings rattle on the walls. Soon after he hears Mike and Luci giggle in delight. '_Holy shit, I can't believe we got to see that!_' one of them says. Dean doesn't hear the answer. It always seems to make the boys giddy when he shuts their father down, calling rank.

He wakes up his computer by nudging the mouse only to find an email from Brad. When he opens it there's a knock on his door frame and Gabe pokes his head in. "Yo, Deano. You busy?"

"Come on in," Dean says, pushing his chair out to make room and patting his thighs.

Gabe comes skipping in and sits on his lap. "So here's an idea. I'm in desperate need of an assistant. Can't keep my head screwed on by myself. Don't know in from out. What do you say?" he asks and waggles his eyebrows with a shit-eating grin.

Dean chuckles and leans his head on Gabe's shoulder. "If there is someone who _doesn't_ need an assistant, it's you." Sometimes Dean thinks Gabe’s the one with the most brainpower. He’s never seen Gabe take notes or use any kind of memory-enhancement.

"You got me. But still. Think about it. Asia. Down under. Europe. Africa. You could go with me all the time."

Dean lifts an eyebrow. "Africa?"

"Still working on convincing Father that we need to expand there," Gabe admits sheepishly.

"And why do you think we need to?"

"Because I've never been there, jackass. Why do you think we expanded abroad in the first place? What do you say, Deano?"

Dean sighs. It’s so damned tempting. Except, Gabe flies everywhere. They’d have to go by airplane. The very thought of it threatens to send him into a cold sweat. "Thanks, Gabe. I'll think about it. Right now I'm thinking of quitting my job altogether."

"Really? Why?"

Dean gestures at the mail he'd opened. “Just started this project.”

Gabe reads it and scrolls down. He whistles. "Father approved of this?"

Dean frowns, trying to tamper down a flare of anger. "I don't need his approval. He didn't exactly ask my approval when he decided to make the big expansion that has all of y'all traveling all the time. It was him, right? I ain't directing my anger the wrong way?"

"No, it was him. But I thought it was a decision you made together. We all did." Gabe looks troubled and a bit guilty.

"Yeah, no. I was never asked if I was okay with y'all skipping out on vacation. I was never informed why an expansion was necessary. And I won't ask for permission to start my own projects."

"Father will be pissed, but I think this is awesome," Gabe says and taps the screen. He hesitates, then twists around and looks pleadingly at Dean. "Please don't force Naomi and the others to move." 

Dean chuckles at the quick change of topic. "Dude. They're a cell of ours. I don't care if they're in denial, I ain't gonna treat them as anything but."

Gabe deflates in relief. “Good. I love those dusty old Conservatives. They’re as much a part of our kithood as Father and Aiden.”

Dean huffs. “Yeah. I got that. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll go with you tomorrow if you want.” Gabe looks troubled and smells anxious.

“Weren’t you due for Florida?”

“Yes, but I can cancel and let them handle it. That’s what we’re paying them for anyway,” Gabe chuckles awkwardly. Dean can smell how much the idea stresses him out.

“But…?”

Gabe grimaces. “But last time I let them handle a big campaign themselves they went with clowns. Clowns! Sales dropped 15% and kits got scared.”

Dean sniggers. “I thought you liked clowns?”

“Nope,” Gabe says popping the P. “Hate them with a passion. Bonded with your lil bro over that.”

This time, Dean laughs. “Honestly, I don’t think we should leave any advertising decisions to the wiles of the Florida Man. You go.”

“Are you sure? You can come with me?” This time Gabe looks hopeful.

“Some other time. Look, I know you love your job. I’d love to come with you, but I’ve been waiting a long time to visit the estate. I wanted Papa to show me around, but I’m sick of waiting for him to find the time.”

Gabe’s quiet for a moment. Dean can hear him swallow. “I hate it when you fight,” Gabe says quietly at last, as if he’s making a shameful confession.

“Yeah, I know. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m head over heels for him, okay? And any problems we have all seem to be born out of things we don't hash out. I dunno, but tearing each others' throats out just works for us, alright?"

"Mike and Luce are the same," Gabe concedes unwillingly.

"So I've noticed. Hey, Gabe. You've met Sasha by now. What do you think of him?"

Gabe shrugs and dangles his legs. "He seems like a cool dude.”

Dean heaves a sigh. "Yeah. I just wish Papa would see that too."

* * *

"He's way out of line and he knows it!" Marlon sits on Dick's bedside, angrily pulling his socks on. Dick lies watching him, both still covered by sweat after the angry sex Marlon had initiated when he came home to find Dean out with Gabe. The sex had only marginally abated Marlon's anger, but he'd directed none of that rage towards Dick. So Dick enjoys the view of the man sitting there with only his pants on, suspenders hanging to the sides and zipper undone.

"Naturally, dear," Dick agrees. "But… is he, though?"

Marlon grunts. "He could have said something sooner."

"Of course. You're right. Although… I think he did?"

Marlon stills in position. Dick sits up and kisses sweat off his shoulder. Thankfully, his nose has adjusted to the sting of rage by now or he'd have sneezed. "When?" Marlon asks and relaxes a little when Dick winds his arms around him and kisses his neck. "I'm sure I would have remembered."

"It's in the little things, dear. Already the first week we moved in he said something about it." Marlon covers one of his hands with his own and looks over his shoulder. "Remember the vaccinations? He asked Luci if he could go to all those places. Then there were other indications. He talked about Chad and Brad's job as a dream job, travelling all over the country. His smell of annoyance every time Sam's been taken traveling somewhere. Remember how he reacted when you told us your story and Gabe swept Sam away to Florida? And two weeks ago when Sam said that if he didn't know better he'd think Dean had cabin fever?"

"When we found the claw marks on the walls and ceiling in the hallway? I forgot to ask Dean about them."

"He said he wanted to check if the ceiling could hold his weight. So he’s quite literally climbing walls out of boredom."

"_Fuck!_" Marlon squeezes his eyes shut and flexes his fingers, then forms fists until his knuckles go white and Dick can smell pain from nails or claws digging in. Marlon takes a deep breath then relaxes marginally again.

"Are you angry because he ordered me to work with you?" Dick asks. He doesn't think so but wants to make sure. He's truly excited about it, but it won't be fun if Marlon's averse to it.

"Don't be ridiculous, sweetheart. Of course not. It's a great idea and I look forward to it. I second his sentiment. You will be a brilliant politician and I could do with a lesser workload. How about you? Are you okay with him going over your head like this?"

"Oh, definitely. He gave me an out if I want one. Six months is a blip in time and it might be good for me. Sometimes it isn't easy to figure out for yourself what you need. My therapist says I should ask you for more help, but I don't know what I need help _with_. That makes it hard to ask."

"Maybe I should see a therapist too. Maybe I have to with a mate like Dean," Marlon mutters.

"Don't you want him to visit the estate?"

Marlon growls lowly out of annoyance. It's not directed at Dick. "Is it so hard to understand that I want to be the one to show him the place where I grew up?"

"Not at all, dear. Which is why he put up with all the times you've said that you were going to take him then cancelled." Marlon growls again, this time with a warning look over his shoulder at Dick. Dick's unperturbed, kissing his neck. "And he didn't forbid you to come with him tomorrow. In fact, I'm sure he'd prefer it if you did.”

“I can’t. Dobrik is being a nuisance playing hardball. I finally managed to set up a meeting where I hold all the cards and can corral him into doing what I want. The day after, that information will be public and the playing field will even out again.”

Dick hums and bites lightly at the knob of Marlon’s spine. Marlon likes that. It gives him goosebumps and he makes a noise of approval. “Tell me something, dear. Is it true what he said?” Dick asks.

“About what?”

“Am I doing his job?”

Marlon grunts, runs a hand through his hair and looks down at his hands. “Yes. Technically. My sons and I have been handling pack politics alongside our business dealings since always. It never occurred to me to stop letting them do it and send Dean criss-crossing the country to exchange pleasantries with other packs.”

“Hm. I wish I’d known.”

Marlon makes a noise of frustration. “Doesn’t he get how much time I devote to him?” he asks rhetorically, changing the subject. “The sex, the long talks, the sleep for Ares sake! He’s been my number one priority since we got mated! He can’t demand I let go of everything and follow him around like a puppy on a string!"

"He's doing no such thing, dear. The way I heard it, he explicitly told us he didn't require us to change how we use our time. He only informed us he wouldn't be leashed. From what I've seen getting to know him, he's got the energy of ten Jack Russells and he has the smallest workload of us all. Thinking about it, I'm surprised I didn't see this coming. In hindsight, it was obvious."

Marlon grabs Dick's elbows and pulls, forcing him to hug him closer. "It's the best relationship I've had with an O. Sure we fight. I'm not an easy man to deal with and he's got a temper to rival mine. But afterwards we talk and it always feels like we make progress. But now he's pulling the same shit Charles did!"

"Is he really? I gathered Chuck did things solely to make you jealous? Dean's been turning Alphas down to keep you happy, and making himself miserable in the process if I were to judge based on what he said at the meeting. And has he ever denied you intimacy as a form of punishment? Because I didn't miss that reassuring touch he gave you when he left."

Marlon grunts. "Richard." He doesn't say anything after that. It feels like he wants to, though.

"Does it come down to one particular Russian security consultant?" Dick hedges and kisses him behind the ear just above the gland.

Marlon sneers. "The man's a ghost. His company has only existed for two years, but his credentials still check out dating back much further than that. The ID is fake. It's like he popped into existence on March 21st two years ago and no facial recognition programs can find a match in any database, except for one hit in the FBI past employee register. Chaadayev looks exactly like an agent named Carter who _allegedly_ worked for them a couple months two decades ago. It says he was a transfer from the CIA. But the CIA hasn't digitalised their old records. When we finally dug up Carter’s information, the photos depicted someone else. He can't be trusted," he complains.

"Our company security has never been as well managed as it is now. You know that’s true. Chaadayev and Dean were friends before you even met Dean. Is it really such a bad thing that he's a ghost if Dean holds his loyalty?"

"He's after something. I feel it in my bones. I just can't figure out what. I don't think it's too much to ask for Dean to stay away from one single Alpha whom I can't stand."

Dick hums agreeingly. "It wouldn't be if the Alpha in question wasn't his dearest, most loyal outpack friend."

Marlon growls again. His chest heaves angrily for a couple of seconds until he manages to calm down. "I wish Chaadayev didn't smell the way he does. The bond that clings to Dean drives me out of my wits."

Now there's something Dick can actually agree with. There's something off about the Russian's scent. "I admit, he does smell strange bordering on uncomfortable."

Marlon side-eyes him as if the statement bewilders him. "He smells handsome," he grumps.

Against better judgement, Dick hiccups a giggle in surprise.

Marlon twists around to scowl at him. “How is that entertaining to you?”

“Oh, nothing. I just realised it’s nothing to do with his shifty identity, but rather is one of _those_ situations,” Dick sniggers.

“What, ‘those’?” Marlon asks warily.

“Oh, you know. Sean, Wadsworth, Keith. A brilliant and handsome male who doesn’t want you as much as you want them,” Dick says lightly, remembering Marlon telling them Aiden used to tease him about it. At the first sign of Marlon’s outrage, Dick falls back on the bed, legs spread welcomingly, arms outstretched to his sides, eyes closed and throat bared with a small smile. If it’s one thing he’s learned living here it’s that as dangerous as the Patriarch can be, nothing disarms him as effectively as complete surrender.

Sure enough. Marlon crawls over him muttering about not having ‘a thing for Mike’s Siberian' - even when muttering to himself he refuses to acknowledge any proprietary connection between Chaadayev and Dean. But angry scent aside, his touch is gentle and his mouth sweet. A stark contrast to the rough, feral sex they just had.

* * *


	2. Nomad Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rewind a couple of days. This is what kicked Dean into action, calling the pack meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, guys, I forgot to post! XD This one has been done and Beta read by my wonderful betas Lisa and Melina, but I forgot to post it. ^^' Oops?  
Grammarly (spelling/grammar app) had an aneurysm when I copied the doc into Ao3. Sasha's talking a lot so the app goes "NO, NO, NO! THAT'S NOT HOW YOU ENGLISH, DAMMIT!"

* * *

**Aaand rewind….**

The clouds overhead move swiftly in the wind, shifting form like a fluffy white puppet show with a cerulean backdrop. The wind is strong up here on the roof of the skyscraper, ruffling Dean’s pelt where he lies on his back looking up. The scents are different this high above the city. The smell of people, the trash, and rotting organics are barely noticeable, while smoke, exhaust, ozone, and other gasses are more prevalent. Today, though, with its chilly bite, the air smells fresher than usual. The smog of the city blowing away and dissipating as fast as it forms. Instead, even this high above the earth, the wind carries the smells of the ocean, filling Dean with a longing he can’t put into words.

His fur is thick, a good protection against the cold wind. Beside him, Sasha’s long belly fur is as white and fluffy as the clouds above, and his content low-frequency purr is felt, rather than heard, reverberating through Dean’s body. Dean’s tempted to lift his head to look at the pouch between Sasha’s legs, to stare at his heavy balls covered in short, soft-soft fur. That fucking pouch is the star of many of Dean’s jerk-off sessions. It bulges when Sasha’s riled up, the dark pink triangular cockhead peeking out like a shy baby roo.

Dean’s holding a dead rat in one hand. Last month Marlon gave him a broad diamond choker. Today, Sasha gave him several dead rats. He treasures both gifts equally. They brought the rats with them and Dean insisted they share. If Dean was unshifted, he’d want the rats cleaned and cooked, but when shifted he prefers them as is. It had baffled him at first, but as Sasha had said, ‘You shift on inside too.’ In this form, even his tongue is shifted, so why not his digestive system?

A large seagull lands not far away, watching them. Dean grabs one of Sasha’s hands and pulls it to himself, then he pushes at a finger to unsheathe a razor-sharp claw. He uses the claw to cut the rat open and remove the entrails. Sasha trills amusedly and smells happy as he always does when Dean makes use of his body for practical purposes. Dean lets go of his hand and throws the entrails to the gull, then bites the rat’s head off and chews the satisfyingly crunchy part. Looking at the sky, he can almost pretend he’s on a remote mountain top somewhere unknown, instead of trapped inside a 300 square mile gated community he never gets to leave. It seems like everyone in the pack gets to travel away from New York all the time. Everyone but him. He works too much to go with them, but too little to keep the boredom at bay. 

Sasha makes short work of eating his own rat. Chewing more like an afterthought before swallowing. “So. We will talk about it, yeah?” he says.

“Talk about what?” Dean asks. He tilts his head back and opens his mouth wide in an effort to swallow the rest of the rat without chewing, curious to see if he can do it. He keeps a steady grip on the tail in case he can’t. But it works. He can feel his throat grabbing and pulling the body down, hair and all. He bites the tail off at the base, and feels the rat go down with a gulp. Feeling a little smug, he bites the tail into smaller pieces and throws them to the gull, amused to see it chase after the bits as the wind grabs onto them.

“Pretty little Omega is not happy.”

“I’m happy,” Dean refutes.

Sasha chuckles. “No. All the pack Alphas are happy. But pretty little Omega is not. Pretty red-eyed Omega isn’t happy. And pretty, young Omega makes trouble for himself so he not be happy.”

Dean frowns and turns his head to look at Sasha with concern. “Is Dick unhappy? Sam’s in trouble?”

Sasha smiles reassuringly. “Sam makes trouble for himself. Do things he likes that he thinks forbidden, then he make worry about it. His mates, anybody else think it okay, but he still worry, if you get what I’m sayin’?”

Dean frowns in confusion for a moment. “Like, he fucks around and then feels bad about it despite our mates giving us the green light for it?”

“Да. Exactly that.”

“So how can I help him?” He barely sees Sam these days. He’s visited Sam at college just like their mates had, but, unlike their mates’ visits, Dean’s visit upset Sam. Dean’s hurt by it, but he doesn’t want to intrude when Sam so clearly tried to hide that Dean’s visit felt like an intrusion.

“No. I think you cannot. I think, this is a young man’s journey, yeah? Finding oneself, making mistakes. I also think, you too close. Advice must come from outside for him to hear, if you get what I’m sayin’?”

“I hate that. Can you do it?” He doesn’t ask how Sasha knows. A long time ago Dean asked Sasha to keep an eye on Sam and only tell Dean if something major was going on. The favour asked was a temporary thing to Dean, but judging by the things Sasha sometimes said, Dean thinks he might never have stopped keeping an eye on Sam.

Sasha shrugs a shoulder. “Perhaps… What result you want? Him to stop doing the sex or him to stop be ahamed and guilty about it?”

“Is it something he should be ashamed of?”

Sasha’s only answer is a neutral expression and a slow blink that means nothing.

“Wow. I just asked if you think I would judge the shit out of him, didn’t I? And that’s what he’s worrying about, isn’t it? Which is why he’s angsting and I can’t be the one to help him. Fuck.”

Sasha makes a pleased rumble at Dean’s deduction and rolls over to his side to put a paw on Dean’s belly. These days Dean’s own hands look a lot more like paws than monkey hands too. Just like Sasha once told him that he’s always shifting, Dean’s in a constant state of shifting too. He’ll only shift this openly when he’s alone or with Sasha, but he’s always shifting _something_. The result is a constant low-key ache in his body, and he looks more and more feral every time he does a big shift, like now.

They’d been shifted when they stepped into the elevator going up from Sasha’s apartment. A man Marlon’s age or older had stood there with his son who couldn’t have been more than five. The pair had made big eyes when Dean and Sasha stepped inside, surprisingly, neither had smelled of fear. The boy had whispered loudly to his dad, ‘Dad! They’re _naked_! Mom said you have to cover up when you go outside!’ The man had turned his head to look at them with eyes filled with rattled anguish. Dean noted the pendant with the One’s star around his neck, gave him a polite smile and chirped a friendly greeting. The man looked back at his son and said ‘They are covered, son.’ The kit dwelled on it then whispered, ‘They’re pretty.’ The father agreed ‘Yes, they are.’ The father met Dean’s gaze again, this time his eyes were pleading, full of old, old heartache. Dean knew without a doubt then, that he was looking into the eyes of a stranger with vivid memories of the civil war. Who’d seen the lynched bodies of shifters and maybe lost loved ones who were like Dean. Or, perhaps he’d even been one of the Conservatives who oppressed Packrunners for fear of being targeted himself? The man was pleading silently but to Dean’s frustration, he couldn’t figure out for what. Not to reopen old wounds? To forgive old harms done that Dean was too young to know about? Not to spread the shifting trend? When the pair stepped out of the elevator the boy asked his dad ‘Can I be that pretty too?’ and the dad had answered. ‘Maybe. But you need to know that there are evil peopl…’ That’s all Dean heard before the doors shut. Sasha had nodded and stated ‘A cub knows who is human.’ But Dean was shaken to his core. Every time he tried to sort the world into definitives, something happened to remind him it couldn’t be done. He’d expected a Conservative to show disgust, fear, or anger. To tell their kit it was wrong to appear as Dean and Sasha. Not to simply warn the boy of the risk from small-minded people.

“You can’t judge Sam more than he judge himself.” Sasha continues, bringing Dean out of his reverie and back to the moment. “Give him time. If I can do something, I will,” Sasha promises and combs through Dean’s belly fur with the tips of his claws, smoothing the fur and soothing his worries. 

“Okay. Now, what were you saying about Dick? He smells happy to me? You smell it differently?” Dean’s smart enough to trust any scent-input Sam, Luci, or Sasha give him more than he trusts his own sense of smell.

“Да. He is happy when with pack, but not with job. He is happy when working away, but then he unhappy separated from pack. I think, he feel discontent with people he knows scenting him.”

“That makes sense. I mean, I don’t understand it, but it makes sense with what Dick’s said himself. He hates how people he’s known for years treat him differently now. That’s why he enjoys being sent on missions out of state. They didn’t know him before.”

“So what will you do?”

Dean hums. “Marlon’s been on me to get into politics with him. I have zip zero nada interest in doing so, but Dick would be great for the job. That’d get him away from the office and he’d be surrounded by new people.”

“Is good,” Sasha praises. “And you?”

“What about me?”

“Why are you not happy?”

“I’m happy.”

Sasha huffs in amusement and tips over to rub their noses together. “~You’re lying to yourself, pretty little Ooo~,” he singsongs.

Dean wraps his arms around him to pull him onto his chest, digging his fingers into that thick fur. “Yeah, okay. Maybe. I dunno, man, I’m just bored. I never realised how often my pack would have to be away on business trips. It’s like we’re never at home at the same time. Lately there’s been a lot of trips. A _lot_. I’ve been home alone for four days now. But even before that, I get off from work at 4 or 5 PM at the latest, then the rest of them get home between 8 and 9:30. By then I’ve already done everything that’s needed doing, I’ve rested, and I’m geared up to do something. But they’re tired and want to relax. I get it, man. I do. And it’s not like I don’t like just hanging out watching TV or fooling around a bit before going to sleep. I do. And two days a week they’re home early to cram in gym time or Marlon will blow a fuse. And sparring and working out together is fucking great.”

“He blow fuse? Get violent?” Sasha asks then purrs loudly when Dean lifts his hand to scratch him behind his tufted ear with his claws.

Dean sniggers. “Nah, man. He’ll go, ‘So, Michael… It seems like you’ve missed out on sparring this week?’ And Mikey, or whoever he’s putting in the crosshairs, will stutter their excuse. Then he’ll just hum and give them a disappointed look. He won’t mention it again but the boys will be down in the gym every morning for a week to make up for it.”

Sasha makes an approving ‘_Ooroo_’ that has no easy translation in words with all the nuance that particular sound carries. Dad had made that sound for Dean when they were visited by the dominant pack in Kansas after Dean had just become Main. It’s a whole declaration in a sound, not unlike the cooing of a dove. It declares approval of the action, but it’s a sound made by one of lower rank towards a superior, a closely ranked superior, but a superior nonetheless. There’s multiple layers of meaning in that sound and, for now, Dean’s not really up to dissecting what it reveals about Sasha’s feelings towards Marlon. Sasha seems content to do the same. “Is good. Warrior needs to practise or only mind remember how to fight while body forget.”

“I know. Dad always likened physical prowess to fresh produce. Leave it unused for too long and it rots. Not that it mattered with the way I used to live. But here staying fit requires the choice to do so. Back home, I was doing repairs, tending the animals and garden, hunting, patrolling. Downtime was a luxury. Then when first I came here, I was scavenging, exploring, hunting and trying to find a job. I was constantly on the move. In the evenings when I finally settled down to relax, I felt done with the day. Content, you know? Now…” Dean makes a noise of frustration.

“Go on. Put words to it.”

“I dunno, Sash. The company runs itself. The pack runs itself. The security is taken care of. Our freezers and pantries are stocked to the brim. I’ve repaired everything that needs repairing, and there are only so many beds I can build. I feel like I used to during winters when we were snowed in. How the fuck can you get cabin fever in a city with a bazillion people, Sash? _How?_” 

Sasha smells discontent but doesn’t sound it when he speaks. “My people, I tell you they were all Siderunners, yeah? We were constantly on the move, making temporary homes. Many times we roamed alone, but also often in pairs. Even when alone we make conversation with other people and our pack, but over long distances. We were alone but not lonely. Your kind stay put, make permanent homes. In your kind’s packs, a few will be traveling. Scouting, hunting, make friends. Some of your kind are born with nomad hearts, like my kind. Like you.” He pokes at Dean’s chest with a finger, right over his heart. “The horizon of the vast plains always calling, yeah? But your kind always seek physical company, unlike us. So in this day, a phone call once or twice a month, I am not lonely. But for you, a phone call even once a day is not enough. You want to roam the plain, but, out of duty, you stay put while pack roams. I think, in your pack, only the tiny one has nomad heart like you.”

“The tiny one? Oh, you mean Gabe.” Dean huffs in amusement.

Sasha nods. “He always out discovering things. Like you want to be. But you stay home always waiting for them even if you don’t have to. How many new friends have you made since packs merge?”

Dean opens his mouth to respond… but shuts it again with a clack. None. The answer is none. He’d met people he’d have liked to get to know better, but he held back since he had to be home waiting for his mates to return. Only, as Sasha pointed out, he doesn’t actually _have to_. “Marlon makes it very rewarding to wait for him,” he says, instead of answering the question. They all do. But Marlon is by far the most adventurous and creative of Dean’s lovers, and, for someone who claims to have a stunted libido, he’s also the most insatiable. When he was home, if Dean wasn’t busy with someone else in the pack, Marlon devoted a lot of time to Dean’s pleasure. It was more than sex - it was self-discovery. When they were home alone, anything could happen. The memory caused a smile to flit across his face.

“Of course, he does,” Sasha says dryly with another sting of discontent.

Dean tries to sit up. “You think he’s manipulating me?” he asks worriedly. 

Sasha pushes him down and tips back on his side. “No. I make it rewarding for you to hunt, no?”

“Yeah?”

“You think I manipulate you to feel so?”

“What? No. But he has a history of―”

“I have history too, only to you unknown. He told you sincere to help you both not let him make mistake, yeah? But he gets happy when you wait, and it makes you happy when he’s happy, no?”

“Yeah… but.” Dean’s not sure how to continue the sentence.

“_Eyy_,” Sasha reprimands. “You need to remember that for your mates, having you move in is not big change. They work the same jobs, have same routine. They clean, cook, everything in order. It’s a good pack. A well-oiled _mashina_.” 

Well, that was true before Sam went to college, but Dean hadn't complained to Sasha about that change. 

"They just get extra relief with you there. Like you say, they don’t need you to do things. They need you because you make heart sing, yeah?” Dean frowns. If this is supposed to cheer him up, it isn’t working. But Sasha goes on. “But for you, everything is big, big change. The young one go to college and there everything is change. The red-eyed, gets scent, changes mate, changes designation. Huge change. And for you too. You go from important provider carrying big burden to having everything provided, but nothing to do. I think it’s time you don’t wait for them.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean go out, get new friends, take lovers, discover hobbies, make projects without worry about their schedules,” Sasha says. Dean’s frown deepens and Sasha rumbles a deep chuckle. “You want to know secret? The only one who cannot be replaced right now, is Patriarch. None of his sons can do politics like him. The rest? Their company has hired smart. With their current chain of command, they could be out playing golf for months and company would handle itself. They’re there, to keep a rein on their power, not because they have to be. For show.” Dean’s frown goes from displeased to thoughtful. Sasha’s lip pulls up lopsidedly, white whiskers moving in the wind and his long white fangs gleaming in the sunlight. “They have good work ethics, yeah? So they go along like always. Nothing’s changed. By you waiting, you’re showing nothing need to change, they don’t need to prioritize. You make yourself important to _you_,” another poke in the chest, “and they will have to start prioritizing time for you too. Like pretty red-eye does, no?”

It’s true. Dick will often enough ask Dean in advance if he has plans for a certain day and then pencil in a big ‘DEAN’ in his calendar for that day. They’ll do something together then. Sometimes with the others, sometimes just the two of them, but, if he’s penciled Dean in, he never cancels because something’s come up. Sasha knows it because Dean told him about a time when he and Dick were supposed to go for drinks after work. Dick had cut his workday short to get off at the same time as Dean, but when Dean went to meet him, he found Dick in a meeting where tempers were running high. As soon as Dick saw Dean, he adjourned the meeting to continue the next day after lunch. Someone had protested that Dick couldn’t stop now, they were in the middle of a crisis. Dick had stopped and said, ‘It’s a crisis to _you_,’ with that pleasant smile of his, then sauntered out to Dean. That’s fucking badass. It’s fucking murder. That forced the guy, and the others who’d been there, to fret all night about what would happen next. At the same time, it highlighted what was important to Dick. So Dean told Sash. But Dean hadn’t thought there was anything special about penciling in Dean in particular. Dick’s calendar was full of days like that: Crowley, Luci, Gabe, Jeff, Seb, and so on. Always with days in between where he was free to do spontaneous things or just chill at home.

“It just seems stupid that I need to remind my fucking mates to pencil me into their calendars. You don’t.”

“I don’t. No, I draw line over anything already in calendar when you ask to come play. Same difference.”

_Oh._

Dean hadn't realised that. He knows Sasha almost always has time for him but he didn't think it was because he _made_ the time.

"Huh…" Dean is quiet, thinking. He watches the gull circle overhead then shrugs. "I'll probably have my hands full soon enough, anyway."

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve started going bare with some of my boys.” Dean almost laughs at how Sasha’s scent suddenly disappears. In a room it lingers, making it hard to detect right away that no new input is coming. But they’re on a windy roof, so instead it’s as if Sasha teleported out of there.

“You trying for cubs already?”

Dean looks at Sasha studiously, trying to read him. Sash is good at schooling his expressions, but like this, shifted, it’s even harder to read him simply because Dean doesn’t have enough experience translating moods from animal-like human features. But...Sasha’s whiskers twitch in a way that has nothing to do with the wind that’s ruffling his fur.

_You don’t like that, huh?_

Dean wants to ask why. Does he think it’s too soon? That Dean isn’t ready? Dean thinks he could raise a kit very well, thank you. “Nah. I ain’t letting them knot me bare. They pull out before they come and come on me or in my mouth instead. If they wanna knot me they gotta keep the wrapper on, if you get what I’m sayin’? Same if I’m in Heat. I ain’t trusting none of them to pull out in time when I’m in Heat. But, you know, pulling out ain’t foolproof.” Sasha says nothing so Dean scowls at him. “Fuck you, I’d be a great parent,” he responds to the imagined, unvoiced accusation.

Sasha blinks in surprise then snorts. “_Ey_. You don’t have to be good parent, you just have to survive birthing cub. Pack is strong, they will do the rest.”

Dean barks a startled laugh and hits Sasha on the upper arm. “Screw you. I ain’t an incubator.”

Sasha lays his paw on Dean’s belly and digs his fingers in hard enough for Dean to feel the pinpricks of his retracted claws. “Sure you are,” he jokes with a lopsided smirk, scent coming back and smelling content.

Dean laughs again and heaves himself onto Sasha, biting him hard on the shoulder until he tastes blood. Sasha grunts and tries to wrestle Dean off. It leads to a playful tussle, rolling around the rooftop, each trying to get the upper hand. Sasha's fur is slightly miscoloured red and pink where Dean bit him. He's grinning. Dean gets pinned down with his head near Sasha's bloodied shoulder. On impulse, he starts licking the shoulder to get the blood out. His tongue isn't as effective as Sasha's at washing fur, but Sasha relaxes his grip. It’s behaviour learned from hunting together. When pelted, Sasha considers licking himself clean as viable an option as washing in water. Suddenly, his scent disappears. Dean stops right away. "Did I overstep? Are you horny or uncomfortable?"

Sasha chuckles. "Very comfortable. Don't stop. You smell me you get wet. I'm just a man, pretty little Omega."

It’s true. If Sasha smells horny, Dean will definitely get slick. "Alright." They sit up face to face and Dean resumes washing his friend, seeing him lowering his eyelids, fluffy, tufted ears falling relaxed to the sides. Dean can't get over how they change appearance and are able to move. Dean's own ears get more and more like Sasha's every time he shifts. Maybe one day he too will be able to move them? He hopes so.

Sasha rubs himself against Dean's neck, marking him up and distracting him so he stops licking and does the same. Oddly enough, fur doesn't make it harder to mark someone. Instead, the hair spreads the secretion over a larger area around the glands. It does, however, make it harder to form deeper scent bonds. You need to rub gland to gland or mark each other _a lot_. And they have. Their friendship bond is already strong - a constant. They rub their glands together anyway. Dean looks down between them to see that enticing pink cockhead peek out of the protective pouch. Sasha’s turned on.

"I get why you don't want to knot me," Dean says.

"I want to knot you. Is no secret," Sasha says, surprised.

Dean huffs. "Wrong choice of words then. I get why you won’t do it. I've realized how unreliable condoms are for you. They break or leak. You don't want to knock me up. I get it. But what's up with you and Mike? I thought you liked him, and he wants you to fuck him as much as I do. He told me you said ‘next time’ a long time ago, but you didn’t follow through. You’re a fucking tease. I know _that_, but he’s an Alpha so you have no reason not to fuck him.”

Sasha snorts in amusement then gets serious and looks away, ears flattened to his head. “Your pretty little Alpha mate makes my heart go boom-boom,” he says after a moment of silence.

“That’s it? You have feelings for him and you’re afraid he’ll break your heart? Cuz I don’t think he will. He’s super into you, man. Like, he might seem like the biggest knothead in the pack, but no one outside the pack thinks that. I finally figured out it’s cuz he’s only a horndog if he cares about you, if his partners mean something to him. Like, for real. He’s as weak-kneed for you as he is for me, Sam and Dicky.”

Sasha smirks smugly and side-eyes Dean. “I know.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Is no problem. Is good. One day, I’ll do it. Now, come on. Let’s go for car ride.”

Dean doesn’t push. He knows Mikey hasn’t seen Sasha fully shifted like this. He also knows that the workplace affair between the two Alphas is limited to BJs and handjobs because _Sasha_ keeps it that way. He knows this because Mike’s told him, eager to have someone to talk to about his obsession with the Siberian. But right now there are other things to focus on. “A car ride? What? Right now?” He really hopes so.

“Да.”

“Where are we going?”

“As far as we can and be back in time to work tomorrow.”

That might be the most exciting sentence Dean’s heard in a long time.

* * *

“Hey, Sash…?”

“Да?”

“Are you old?”

Sasha takes his eyes off the road long enough to give Dean a look of sheer amusement. They’d dressed and shifted back to normal before hitting the road. In Dean’s case, it had taken a bit longer to shift back fully. They hadn’t spoken much, just sat listening to the radio, watching the world whiz by as the car ate up the miles. Dean’s so content he can feel it in his bones. The radio’s playing a song about riding your horse until you can’t ride anymore. It’s this year’s top hit, and it speaks to Dean on a personal level. A nomad’s heart. That’s what Sasha called it. Dean’s always loved roadtrips. He hated siderunning for his pack back in Kansas. It was a lonely way to live. And the days and nights he spends haunting the big apartment building while waiting for his mates to come home are lonely. But he isn’t lonely now. 

“I have lived long life,” Sasha finally answers.

“Yeah, you’ve said. But it doesn’t answer my question. Like, Progs lives to what? 75? 90 and they’re fucking ancient. We live to 120 years-old maybe? A little more or a little less sometimes, but an old Primal is twice the age of an old Prog. And Sam was studying for a history test, and I saw a map in his book and went ‘Wait, what?’ because I saw stuff I’ve heard you mention. Prussia? Wallachia? Like, _dude_. According to Sam’s book, Wallachia ceased to exist almost 200 years ago. By then, the way you tell the story, you’d already lost a kit and left Siberia. I didn’t dig deeper than that, but I’ve been thinking about other stuff you’ve said. Like how your Os could only get pregnant once a year for a, what was it? Two hour window? No wonder you think we multiply like a fucking virus. But, like, most Packrunners don’t have that many kits, and when we do, we wait five to ten years between pregnancies or the O fucking croaks like mom did. In packs, usually all the Os try to have kits at the same time so the pack has a litter with only a year or so age difference among the kits.” Dean gestures haphazardly,delivering his findings. “My conclusion is, your kind lived long as hell, and raised one kit at a time to adulthood or at least mid Juviehood before your pack had the next. That way, you got a good survival rate, and you didn’t overpopulate the plains you lived on. By our standards, you’re fucking immortal. But it doesn’t answer the question whether you’re old by your standards or not.”

Sasha grunts. “You’re smart. I get what you’re sayin’.” He’s quiet for a beat then shrugs a shoulder. “I’m not young. But… I don’t think I’m old. The old ones looked old.”

“Your hair is all silvery,” Dean points out, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes.

Sasha sniggers. “It has been since Juvies. White, silver, grey, and black is not uncommon colours for us. But I think… perhaps old like Marlon? I don’t know.”

“You don’t remember how long you’ve lived?”

“No. Is different. On plains was hard life. Good life, but hard. But look at me now. I go in car. I never starve or freeze. No need to fear weather. Vaccinate diseases and take medicine. I live easy.”

“Oh, I get it. It’s hard to compare due to the different living standards, right? The old ones on the plains mighta been really fucking old, or maybe they weren’t and they just wore out sooner. Like how pets live a lot longer than their counterparts in the wild.”

Sasha bursts out laughing as if Dean just said something wildly funny. Dean waits with a bemused smile until he’s done laughing. Grinning, Sasha takes his eyes off the road again to give Dean a look full of sharp mirth. “I am not pet. Never pet, pretty little Omega.”

Dean huffs in amusement with a little headshake. “Not what I meant, but fair enough.”

“Is my age important to you?” Sasha asks curiously.

“No. Yes. I just wanna know, if you don’t show up for work one day, should I expect to find you dead of old age in your apartment?”

Sasha laughs again. “No. The other way around, perhaps. But no. I am still a big, strong Alpha. Good for a pretty little Omega like you.”

Dean smirks. His response is a content purr. “Damn straight you are,” he says and looks out the window.

They don’t talk again until after they’ve stopped at a gas station to fill up the tank and get some snacks. Dean sits thinking about what stories Sasha could tell if he had Marlon’s way with words. “Have you ever been around here as a mercenary?” he asks. They’re surrounded by forests and nearing Canada. According to Marlon’s story there would have been fighting here.

Sasha chirps an affirmative.

“Show me.”

They turn off the main road onto a smaller, gravel drive leading into the woods. Sasha parks in a clearing and they walk deeper into the old-growth forest until they come to a field filled with high grass, bushes, and trees much younger than the rest. Sasha stops. “Operation TinCan. They try to flush us out by setting forest on fire. Instead, they piss off local pack who contain the fire before it spread uncontrolled. That pack not around anymore. They get rid of the officer who ordered the fire. I heard them tell his commander we killed him, shifting blame to us.” 

“You think the Williams pack was ever here?” 

Sasha shrugs. “They were warriors, no? Then, perhaps. I never had personal dealings with them.”

Dean snorts. “That’s a lie,” he says.

“No?” Sasha asks with a confused frown.

“You almost killed Marlon one night, man. Only he tripped when you attacked and fired his rifle in panic, so you fled.”

“You sure?”

“He has a scar right here that matches your claws, and he said something about insane scent blockers and night vision goggles.”

Sasha swears and smells of annoyance and anxiety. “Is no good. I didn’t know my life cross theirs before, just fighting in same forest and fields.”

He looks like he's telling the truth and he isn't happy about what he’s learned. "I, for one, am glad you didn’t to kill him. I'd be five mates short if you had. Hell, you and I wouldn't have met if you'd killed him," Dean says.

Sasha smirks, annoyance and anxiety waning. 

Dean’s mind is still stuck in the past. "Do I ever remind you of Arvid?"

"Who?"

Dean socks him hard on the arm.

"Ey!" Sasha scowls at him. "I not know who you talking about. Why that make you mad?"

"Because he was your fucking Captain for decades! Arvid Mattsson from Sweden."

Dean sees the lightbulb of understanding flash over Sasha’s head. "Ooh. Mongrel. Yeah, of course I remember Captain Mattsson. If you said Mattsson, right away I would have known. But you say Arvid as if the world is not full of Arvid," Sasha complains. "I know Mattsson or Mongrel. You fight for me, then perhaps I know Winchester not Dean. Fuck." He rubs his arm as if the hit had been harder than it was, playing up the injustice of it. "How _you_ know him?" he counters.

"Do I remind you of him?" Dean prompts instead of answering.

"No. He was dead inside. Dead man walking, but the gods refused to take him. You full of life."

"When I heard about him, he reminded me of me. You picked him up in a work camp raid in Europe. Can you tell me about him?"

Sasha stops rubbing his arm when he realises Dean isn't going to apologize. He thinks for a bit. "In those camps was always scentless people. They might walk and talk, but there is no fire left. They're dying. Even with gates wide open, they don't escape unless someone drag them away. Mattsson was one of those, I thought. There was fight and he just sit and watch. But then guard came too close, so he kill guard, then sit back and start watching again. Then I know he not dying but already walking dead. So I go to him and say he's my soldier now. I tell him he must kill more guards and help people escape. He obey. Later I made him siphon my Captain in effort to bring him back to life. It failed, but he did get his scent back. He had knack for not dying and talent for killing. Later he show talent for leadership and raising morale. But still empty inside. When he start waking up inside he leave. There. How do you know of him?”

“I’m mated to his god,” Dean says.

Sasha’s face doesn’t change, but the anxiety in his scent shoots skywards then suddenly drops in a way that tells Dean he’s hiding his scent. “What do you mean?”

“You’re trying to tell me you don’t know?”

“_Ey._ Don’t play games with me, Dean.”

“Marlon? Marlon Williams?”

Sasha shakes his head.

“Dude, seriously."

Sasha's face remains serious without any spark of recognition.

"Ares, you dumbass! Marlon is Ares!"

Sasha takes a step back. "No. I don't believe."

"Dude. You were literally beside him in the camp in Canada. He was sleeping beside Arvid after he'd saved him from dying. Arvid had been tortured, and Marlon nearly started a pack war because of it. You dropped a few guards breaking into camp, found Arvid's tent with the two of them, and left once Arvid gave you a report. I can't believe you don't remember!"

Sasha curses in his language and runs a hand through his hair. "It's a scent of an enemy I not remember interact with half century ago, Dean. Not important scent to remember. Mattsson, important. Ares important to Mattsson, not to me. To me, Ares was trouble. He took good Captain from me, you get what I'm sayin'? Is good, he made Mongrel alive again. Is not good he abandon him once he came back to life. I was not happy about that. So Marlon told you who I am?"

"No. I don't think he knows yet. I puzzled it together myself. You hate him or something?"

Sasha huffs with a show of amusement, relaxing somewhat, but he still doesn't release his scent. "No. Is difference. Ares is not politics and business. Ares is chaos. You don’t know him before. Very smart, but dumb at same time. Luck of dangerous god."

"What I don't get is why you act as if you never interacted with the Williams pack. Marlon said that Arvid reported in and you pulled back."

Sasha starts walking, gesturing at Dean to follow. Once again Dean can smell him. There's still some anxiety there but he smells mostly neutral. "Different pack. Even when it's the same pack it's different, you get what I'm sayin'? If I came to Kansas 50 years ago Winchester Pack is different too. Mattsson, when he come back from Ares, had so much intel. Ares tell him everything. The promise Mongrel give was not to hurt pack, but he didn't promise not to tell me anything."

"Marlon knew Arvid told you."

"I know. I thought his love for Mongrel was strong to be that honest."

"It was."

"But still, he abandon him," Sasha says darkly.

"It was to save Packrunning. He needed Arvid to take over the Hales so he could get their support, get enough messengers out spreading the word of what was going on."

Sasha scoffs. "Is dumb. Williams were always rich. They could tell Mongrel to call for us and then pay us to do what needed to be done. I would give rebate. Mongrel would get to mate his Ares and be happy."

“You cared about him?”

“Да. Of course. He was good, loyal Captain for long time. We work close together. I cared.” 

"Then why didn't you avenge his death?" The more Dean had thought about it, the more he was certain Malicia had something to do with it.

Sasha chuckles. "I come back here and hear he dead. I investigate. I suspect foul play by new, mad Main. But, was bad luck. I can't avenge bad luck. Small ice patch on roof make him fall. Landed on neck. Is good, quick way to go. Sad because we had secret deals, but no suffering is good."

“And you’re 100% sure it wasn’t Malicia Hale?”

Sasha nods. “There was witnesses and she wasn’t near.”

"Dick was mated to Arvid's son, Peter. He was part of a pack that acted as your agents, a pack selling weapons for you," Dean says, thirsty for more details of Sasha’s connection to his pack.

"Aah. So that's where I recognize him from. I knew I see him before. Is not easy, remember people you are not close to. Not when you meet many, many people in many, many places."

"But you _do_ remember him?"

Sasha nods. "He tell me where to find my weapons. I remember him as some form of ally but could not place him. Is hard."

"When did he tell you that? He's never mentioned meeting you before but he said his pack talked about coming here while working for a demon and that he'd heard them talking about selling their stash to send him to college. He said that the weapons were worth more than they counted on earning so he thought they were selling for someone else. I jumped to conclusions."

Sasha smells pleased. "I pick up packs sometimes. But I learned, is no good. Pack wants home, cubs, mates. So I pick up pack for travel. Pack fiercer more determined to sacrifice self to see rest of pack safe, no? So I drop them off at place they can make home, and lend them weapons or other business to get started. They get to keep some earning and pay me back the rest, no time limit. I make them owe me. If they die, I come take back what's mine if I can. I was in New York when shooting took place. I hurry there. Only survivor was a pretty little Omega cub I do not know. Since I don't know him, I was going to do away with witness, but he tells me where my guns are and ask me to take bigger revenge for attack. He chose me for ally, I let him live and make more kills for him."

"You wouldn't have taken revenge otherwise?"

Sasha laughs and gives Dean an amused look. "The price had been reasonably paid already. The Hales were decimated. In pack war that is not my own, I don't want whole pack to be killed."

"Why not?"

Sasha stops and turns to face Dean. "My kind… maybe I'm the last, maybe no. But I haven't seen my kind in a long, long time. Your kind that run in packs is closest to my kind. That means you're my kind now. I need you to survive to future."

"That makes sense."

Sasha steps in close and cups both of Dean's cheeks in his hands. He flares and drops fangs, looking down at Dean with a soft smirk. Suddenly Dean's heart is racing, belly all fluttery. "You're my kind now, pretty little Omega," Sasha says and licks his lips, then bends down to slot his lips against Dean's. Dean manages to wet his own lips before Sasha's press softly against them. Everything inside of Dean's going haywire, heart beating like a drum, belly swooping. He opens his mouth a little bit, responding to a second press of lips. This is jarring simply because Sasha never instigates romantic or sensual intimacy. The closest he comes to doing so is when he licks Dean after a hunt. Neither does he hide how kissing Dean excites him now, which is an oddity. Dean can smell it, fizzling his brain. He dips his tongue tip between the crack of Sasha's lips. The Siberian tastes sweet and pine-y. Sasha's tongue connects with his and Sasha instantly pulls back with a distressed little chirp, putting distance between them way too fast.

"Fuck. Sorry, Sash. I'm apparently a total knothead who can't pace myself. I tell you I've gone four days without sex, and then all it takes to get me wet and overly eager is a kiss on the lips. I swear I'm not always this pathetic. I―"

Sasha steps in close to put a hand over Dean's mouth. He opens his own mouth wider and there, between his long fangs, the small snake fangs are bent forward with droplets of pink at their tips. Pink that smells like sweetness and pine. Sasha closes his mouth and lets go of Dean.

"Oh. Is it poisonous? Is that why you freak out when I shove my tongue in your mouth? It can hurt me? Can it kill me?" That would explain why he pulled back the last time Dean licked his tongue too.

Sasha tssks. "You didn't _shove_ your tongue in my mouth. You never _shove_ sex at me. Don't be dumb, pretty Omega." He puts a finger under Dean's chin and tilts Dean's head up. “And you are not knothead. You didn’t complain about no sex for four days, you complain about loneliness. You feel neglected, no? Need intimacy and be close to loved ones, yeah?”

“Yeah…” Dean’s voice comes out rough. Sasha’s eyes glow like the moon in the night sky. His pupils, that usually are mere slits when he flares, are now wide ovals. His cheeks are tinted pink and it’s not from sunburn. Dean’s belly keeps doing those nervous flip-flops.

"I am loved one, yeah?"

"Yeah…" Dean breathes. Incrementally slowly Sasha bends down tilting his head to press their lips gently together once more. Dean closes his eyes and makes a soft sound in the back of his throat. They exchange a few more chaste kisses, sharing breath. Sasha’s sweet, pinescented breath makes Dean light-headed, but he can’t tell if it’s because it’s some kind of poison or because Sasha just shifted their relationship to something beyond friendship. Sasha’s arms wrap around him, one hand cupping the back of Dean’s head to steer his face to the Alpha’s chest. Dean hugs him back and relaxes. His Intimacy-O-Meter rapidly rising to the top. For several minutes they just stand like that, holding each other, Dean’s head tucked between Sasha’s pecs. “Thanks. I needed this.”

“I know. You need, big, sexy, _real_ man. Not pretty little boys,” Sasha jokes, bursting the moment like a bubble.

Dean laughs and pushes him away. “Hey! Those are my mates you’re talking about. They’re not boys,” he protests with a grin.

Sasha shrugs looking self-satisfied. “Perhaps. But I am real man,” he says and winks.

“You’re a dork, that’s what you are.”

Sasha chuckles, then turns on his heel and takes off running with a playful, backward glance. Dean’s in hot pursuit without a conscious thought. It’s the Omega run in reverse. The Omega chasing the impressive Alpha. 

Sasha knows where he’s going; it shows from how he orients himself. He looks over his shoulder several times with a big grin, and the scent of pure joy trails him. Dean is faster than him. He could catch up even in this terrain, jumping over fallen trees and dodging branches. But he senses in his core that’s not the nature of this game. So he keeps himself a few strides behind, loving the rush of hunting something, the adrenaline and strain of running, jumping and dodging the terrain. They’re both winded when they break through the dense forest into a small clearing where Sasha stops, looking at the middle where there’s a moss-covered mound of round stones. “It’s still there,” he says when Dean comes to a stop beside him, gasping for air.

“What is?”

“The Union did this. Not us. Wait. I show you.” He trots up to the mound and picks up one of the stones as if it weighs nothing, then tosses it to Dean. Dean catches it reflexively. It’s too light to be a stone. He looks at it, breath catching in his throat. He’s staring straight into two sightless round hollows which gaze back unsettlingly. “Is American or Canadian. The Union liked to scare,” Sasha says,pointing at the moss covered _skull_ Dean’s holding. A human skull with fully dropped fangs. “Bodies already salted and burned by us. I think, they’re with pack or gods now, yeah?”

Dean doesn’t have words. “Woah.”

Sasha comes trotting back and gives him an affectionate temple rub on the top of his head. “To be or not, is question, no?” he jokes.

Dean bursts out laughing. It’s too fucking absurd. He sits down in the grass with the skull on his lap. “Tell me,” he asks. It’s not an adequate question but it’s enough for Sasha. He starts talking, telling him of operations in this forest. Where his words aren’t enough, he takes Dean with him to point and explain. Dean’s brain fills in the gaps with the vivid pictures painted by Marlon’s story. Sam might be in college, but Dean’s the one getting the interesting lesson in Modern History 101.

They stumble upon a hare and Dean gets to show off how truly well he can sprint while Sasha flanks them, steering the hare. Once it’s killed, they shift so they can eat it without cooking. Sasha uses one of his razor-sharp claws to cut the heart out then holds out the little morsel to Dean. Dean eats it straight from Sasha’s fingers, belly flip-flopping and heart aflutter. 

In the car ride home Dean only manages to sleep 25 minutes. When he wakes up, Sasha smells of more pain than usual. “You alright?”

“Old aches. Is fine,” Sasha answers. He doesn’t say anything else until they park in the garage under HQ. When Dean turns to open the door Sasha grabs his wrist and tugs loosely until Dean turns around with eyebrows raised in question. Sasha cups the back of his head, wets his lips and leans in looking at Dean’s lips. _Oh._ Yeah, Dean isn’t going to pass up a goodbye kiss. He isn’t expecting Sasha to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue into Dean’s mouth. This time Sasha doesn’t have that sweet, pine-y taste. Dean makes a noise in the back of his throat, lightheaded, his heart beating out an erratic staccato rhythm. The kiss lasts a minute, maybe two. When Sasha pulls away Dean tries to follow but gets a hand in the middle of his chest to stop him. 

“Oh, come on, man. We’ve got two hours.”

Sasha chuckles darkly. “I’m just a man, pretty O. I cannot resist too much.”

“So don’t.”

Sasha tssks with fond amusement. “No. Now you go. See you for lunch, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean grins. “You’re a fucking tease, that’s what you are.” He pulls away and gets out of the car, legs feeling like jelly and his belly full of rampant butterflies. He wonders if the lack of venom in Sasha’s mouth is why he smells of pain. After all, when Dean had accidentally cut him with a claw when they tussled at their first shifted hunt, Sasha had smeared saliva over his wound.

Over by the elevator, Dean turns around one last time to find Sasha looking at him still, expression neutral and eyes shining white framed by black.

Dean wonders if kissing Sasha counts as cheating. They barely did anything by Dean’s standards, but at the same time it feels as if the world has shifted beyond recognition.

Why now?

Sasha and Dean have been friends for a year now. Dean’s flirted his ass off at times and gotten no real response. So why is Sasha playing along now all of a sudden?

That question hounds him for the rest of the day, but he can't figure it out.

Why now?

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> In the next chapter we'll go back in time to see what happened between Dean and Sasha that triggered all this. :)


End file.
